


To Have and to Keep

by ArubaBlue



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23406106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArubaBlue/pseuds/ArubaBlue
Summary: Call him old-fashioned, but Jeremy protects and takes care of his man.
Relationships: Jeremy Dooley/Ryan Haywood
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	1. Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: As with all RPF, please remain respectful of the boundaries set by AH, Rooster Teeth, and anyone involved with the source material in any capacity. This is a work of fiction used to explore my own ideas, not to reflect anything true in these peoples’ lives.
> 
> WARNING: Physical abuse and assault, some guilt and minimization from the victim. Some suicidal ideation.

Someone’s knocking on Jeremy’s window. Well, more accurately, someone’s throwing pebbles at his window, but all the same. He rolls over, frustrated growl already in his throat. Nearly four in the damn morning. Who the fuck is out right now? 

“What the fuck.” Jeremy grumbles as he slowly makes his way to his feet. He shuffles over to the window, too tired to be worried about who might be there. “Fuckin’ stop it – “ he starts to yell, before interrupting himself, “ – wait, Ryan?” 

Ryan Haywood, one of Jeremy’s best friends, sort-of-boyfriend, and frequent human wreck, stands downstairs, pebble in hand. They’d been dancing around something more than friendship for quite a while now, but never felt comfortable putting words to it. They’d ended up in an almost-relationship – pretty much together save formally labelling it. Every time they came close Ryan would panic, and Jeremy was comfortable not pushing it just yet. 

Ryan was everything Jeremy could ask for in a partner – funny, sweet, smart, kind. Also terribly dorky, a total nerd, and overall horrifically anxious. So it made total sense, in a way, that Ryan was outside. Of all the people Jeremy knew, Ryan probably topped the list of those who would be knocking at Jeremy’s window at four am, but it still concerned him all the same. 

The boy in question stands in Jeremy’s backyard, hunched over awkwardly, eyes wide and face devoid of all color. “Oh… I’m really sorry, Jer - I - I was just - I’m sorry. I’ll go, now.” Ryan’s voice wavers uncertainly, and something clenches in Jeremy’s gut. Something is really, really wrong. 

“No, Ryan, don’t worry about it. Just wait, alright? I‘m coming down.” Jeremy tries to make his voice as calm as possible, detecting how skittish Ryan seems right now. 

By the time Jeremy makes his way downstairs, Ryan clearly has second thoughts about coming. He’s clutching one arm awkwardly, eyes darting around as though cornered – hunted. Only when he gets closer does Jeremy notice how off the angle of his right arm is. 

“I’m really sorry for coming here, a-at this time, Jeremy - I just didn’t know what else to do.” Ryan stumbles. He clearly wants to say more, but stops himself, biting his lip and studying Jeremy anxiously instead. 

“Well, come in, then, dummy.” He says gently, smiling as encouragingly as he can. Ryan offers a weak smile at the affection in Jeremy’s tone, and slowly trudges in. 

Jeremy leads Ryan upstairs, aiming to bring him to the bathroom with the first aid kit, but the poor thing only becomes more and more hesitant the deeper into the house they get. 

The bathroom light shines harsh and over-bright across the pair, but illuminates in aching detail exactly how injured Ryan is. His arm is fucking mottled – covered in deep blue and black bruises. The angle of his wrist is off, his good arm wrapped protectively around it. He appears torn between trying to hold his injured arm in the proper position and shying away from the pain of doing so. 

“Oh, Ryan, wh - what happened to you?!” Jeremy fights to keep his voice below a hysterical shout at the state his boyfriend is in. Clearly the noise scares Ryan – he immediately shies back. Jeremy takes a few steadying breaths – the last thing Ryan needs right now is to handle Jeremy’s panic and anger. 

“No, Ryan, baby, I’m sorry. It’s alright, everything’s alright. I‘m sorry for shouting. Just – how did you get so hurt?” Jeremy gently moves Ryan’s good arm aside, attempting to examine his injured one. Ryan’ breath hitches and he shakes his head. Jeremy waits, but Ryan just slumps, staying silent. 

“Baby? Are you hurt anywhere else?” Jeremy waits for Ryan to reply, to be ready. 

“Uhm - I - I don’t really know.” 

“Please, Ryan - what happened?” 

“I got in a fight.” 

“Ryan…” 

“It was after football, I - I don’t really remember what happened. I think I passed out.” Ryan would never get in a fight, and he would not give such short, ambiguous answers about something this important. It’s clear that Ryan isn’t telling the truth, but Jeremy doesn’t want to push just yet. Not until he could take care of Ryan without him running away. 

“Alright. Do you feel sick at all? Dizzy?” Ryan slowly nods. Jeremy frowns. “Any chance you’re concussed?” He asks, and Ryan just shrugs. That’s probably a yes. 

“Okay, baby, I have some first aid training but I’m not an actual doctor -“ 

“That’s fine!” Ryan says, panic quickly perking him up again. “I don’t want anyone else seeing me like this. I mean, I don’t even know i-if I should have let you s-see it, or – “ Jeremy interrupts his frightened rambling by running a soothing hand down his cheek, other hand carefully gripping his good wrist. 

“Rye, you’re safe here, love. You’re safe.” He murmurs. Gradually, Ryan’s breathing slows to a normal pace again, and eventually he gives Jeremy a shallow nod. “I’d like my father to take a look at your arm, alright?” 

“What? Y-your dad? I – no, I-I can’t, Jeremy, I was serious. Nobody else can – nobody else can know about this.” Jeremy gently pets up and down Ryan’s good arm. 

“Baby, no, you’re seriously injured. I swear we won’t tell anyone you got hurt in your fight, or whatever it is you’re scared about. I just want my dad to be the one to set your arm, if you won’t go to a hospital. He knows how. Can you stay the night?” 

“I don’t know… It’s so – so much, Jer.” 

“Ryan, I love you. We aren’t not going to do anything to hurt you.” 

“Y-Yeah, I know.” 

“Please, Ryan, will you let us look after you?” There’s a long, long pause between them, during which Ryan studies his shoes. At long last, he looks up at Jeremy, studying his eyes, looking for something. 

Finally, quietly, he murmurs, “Okay.” Jeremy smiles.


	2. Consequences

Ryan knew it would be bad, he wasn’t a fool. He knew, on some level, that he never should have gone over to Jeremy. But he just… needed it, more than he needed anything ever before. His mother was gone, his stepfather away for the time being, leaving him cold and hurt and alone. He needed someone – someone who wouldn’t hurt him anymore, who would just let him stay and try to heal. 

On the way over, he’d thought about lying down and waiting on the tracks. Ended up getting as far as sitting there until he heard the rumble in the distance, until lights spilled down the parallel bars. He isn’t sure why he decided to stand up and continue to Jeremy’s place. Maybe he just wanted to wait until after he saw his best friend one last time. Luckily or unluckily, he’d freed himself of the urge by the time he walked home. 

Of course, Jeremy had been so kind to him, in a way that he never deserved. He and his father, treating Ryan like their own family, fixing his arm up, taking care of him, letting him rest. He didn’t deserve Jeremy. Nobody did. 

He hadn’t managed to confess to Jeremy who had hurt him, not that he’d wanted to. Some part of him thinks it would be a relief, to finally have that off his chest, but another part of him isn’t sure what he would do about it. Jeremy might want to bring it to an authority of some sort, and then Ryan and his mother might get in trouble, and Ryan can hardly bear to think about what would happen after that. 

He hopes he can just slip past his stepfather up to his room. Maybe he can just stay up there, unnoticed, and the makeshift cast can stay on. He’ll be hungry and probably generally unwell for the rest of the weekend, but at least nobody will hurt him worse. 

As soon as he opens the screen door, he knows he’ll have no such luck. His stepfather was waiting for him, standing by the sink with a glass of some amber liquid in one hand. He probably knew what Ryan was doing. Ryan never should have stayed the night. He should have come back early in the morning, before anyone noticed he was gone. 

“Where were you.” The voice is calm, cold. More a demand than a question. Arthur – his stepfather. Art to his friends, hell made man to Ryan. 

“W-what?” Ryan mumbles the word, attempting to hide the sick knot of terror in his gut. 

_“Where. Were. You!”_ He roars, the noise abrupt and so loud it rattles his mother’s good china. Ryan can’t suppress his terrified whimper. There’s no correct answer to this question. Ryan isn’t sure what to say - can’t say football, arm’s shot, can’t say Jeremy because that means he went to someone else, confessed at least something to someone else. 

“Studying at the library.” Ryan says, little more than a whine. As he does, Art stalks closer and Ryan shrinks back, trying to back away. No luck. For every step back Ryan takes, Art takes another step forward. 

“Yeah? The library? Then where the fuck did this come from?” Arthur yanks the cast on Ryan’ bad arm so hard the motion throws him forward several feet towards the man. Ryan lets out a pained cry, desperately trying to blink back his tears even as his vision blurs. Crying will only make this worse. 

“N-no, this was from - this was from -”

“This was from! This was from!” His step-father mocks Ryan in a high-pitched squeal, “WHAT? Who the fuck knows about this?” 

“Nobody, I swear, please…” Ryan doesn’t want to beg, but Arthur still has a vice-like grip on the boy’s cast. “I told them I got in a fight after football, I didn’t tell them anything.”

“Didn’t tell _who_ anything?!” Ryan lets out a raw, whining groan of pain as Arthur begins to compress his wrist with alarming force. 

“Please stop, it wasn’t anyone, please - “ Ryan cuts himself off with a yell as Arthur crunches the bones in his wrist together painfully, snapping them like twigs in his grip. 

“Damn straight it wasn’t anyone. Fuck this, fuck all of you, I’m fucking out of here.” Ryan doesn’t reply, instead trying not to pass out on the floor. Art slams around, doing something, but Ryan doesn’t have the presence of mind to look up and find out what. He just stays curled protectively around his injured arm, soft whimpers accompanying each exhale. 

Eventually, the footfalls return to the vicinity near Ryan’s head. Near the door. Ryan shivers, whimpers, tries to squirm away. 

“N-no, I’m sorry - “ The words are slurred and indistinct. 

“Fuck you.” Art growls, and wrenches the door open. 

Ryan gasps, a broken, pleading sound bursting out of his mouth. He can’t let Art leave. What was he thinking? What would his mother do? God, Ryan was the worst son in the world. 

“W-wait…” He begs drowsily. “W-wait, what about… what about mom?” Ryan can barely make out his own words, reaching weakly out to his stepfather. Arthur ignores him, shoving him aside with one last painful kick aimed to Ryan’s arm. Then, he’s gone. Ryan’s head swims with confusion and uncertainty, relief mixed with fear and dread. But he can’t think on it for long as he gradually loses his fight to stay awake.


	3. Tension

Jeremy hadn’t heard from Ryan for nearly a day and a half since the incident. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t really be anything to write home about, but given the circumstances, Jeremy’s worried. As socially awkward as Ryan can be, he would know to be responsive in the days following a horrifically injured four am house call. 

Jeremy hadn’t wanted him to leave in the first place – not until Ryan explained what had happened to him. The last thing he wanted to do was send Ryan back into whatever lion’s den he’d emerged from. But Ryan insisted, and ultimately, Jeremy couldn’t just trap him at his house, so he had to let him go. 

Ryan hasn’t answered any of Jeremy’s texts since, leaving Jeremy to contend with the ever-difficult dilemma of trying to check on Ryan without seeming overprotective or overbearing. How much was too much? How many unanswered texts meant something was wrong, and how many meant that Ryan was just busy? Just as importantly, how many meant that Jeremy had crossed over into stalker territory? 

He’s worried that, if he plays this wrong, Ryan will stop talking to him altogether. He knows that maintaining Ryan’s trust is more important right now than getting answers on Jeremy’s timeline. Perhaps, given how skittish Ryan had been, too much pressure could mean Ryan clamming up altogether and refusing to come to Jeremy if he ever gets hurt again. 

Jeremy eventually opts to distract himself and let the phone ring when it rings. No matter what he’s watching, though, even Let’s Plays from his favorite creators, he can’t shake the memory of poor Ryan’s arm from his head. 

Someone had really done a number on him (and wasn’t that just the most mild, understated way to phrase it). Someone in Ryan’s life had hurt him terribly, and the poor thing was too afraid to confess who had done it. Not in any capacity had Ryan even hinted at his assailant’s identity. 

He’d been so afraid. Jeremy’s father, being a professional and compassionate man, had been as gentle as could be in treating Ryan, but it had still been like trying to treat a frightened, wounded animal. Even the slightest of touches left him wide-eyed and gathered fearfully into a corner, like he was never certain when someone might turn on him and hurt him. 

Why was he so scared? Ryan seemed more preoccupied with keeping his injuries a secret than fixing them. That probably ruled out some random assault. If he’d gotten… mugged, or something, Ryan probably wouldn’t have been so scared of talking about it. Or if someone at school had hurt him, Ryan might not escalate anything, but he’d be willing to tell Jeremy at the very least. 

Jeremy felt a bit bad about it, but it had only taken him a few hours to start suspecting someone closer to Ryan. To his knowledge, Ryan wasn’t in any romantic (or almost-romantic) relationships with anyone else…

…Which left his family. Despite Ryan’s best efforts, many elements of the Haywood family’s dynamics were none too hidden. Jeremy had never been allowed to meet them in person, but he’d listened to Ryan talk about them for long enough that he’d had suspicions about them even before Ryan had come over. 

There was never anything overt, more that Ryan let things slip that he didn’t even seem to understand were unusual (plus, Jeremy paid a great deal of attention to every tidbit Ryan let slip, something he’s sure the other boy didn’t account for. Jeremy barely wanted to account for it). 

For example, Ryan couldn’t name the last time he’d been to a doctor’s appointment. He didn’t really talk about his stepfather, but he’d mentioned exactly one time that he had been in an “mood” and Ryan wasn’t willing to bother him as a result. His mother and stepfather had never come to a single school event – or been anywhere Jeremy might glimpse them, for that matter – and Ryan explained that his mother was out of town for most of the year. 

Plus – and this was where Jeremy’s hyperawareness of all things Ryan shamefully came in handy – Ryan barely revealed any actual hard facts about himself. He hadn’t told Jeremy about any plans for the future, or most selections from his past - he usually just deflected with a joke. It struck Jeremy as a combination of active concealment and an expectation that nobody was really interested in what Ryan had to say. Overall, it painted a picture of a rather neglectful home life, but the active avoidance of a wide host of topics indicated to Jeremy that Ryan had more to hide. 

Jeremy hadn’t even thought about physical abuse as a factor, but now he can’t avoid thinking about it. It might fit. Ryan was typically anxious, sometimes meek. Occasionally, he joked with his hilarious but terribly dark sense of humor in a rather non-joking way, which sometimes worried Jeremy. And he always wore long sleeves and pants, though that might be coincidence (but, in Texas?). 

From what Jeremy knew, it wouldn’t be beyond the pale that Ryan was seeking to hide physical abuse from Jeremy and the rest of the world. The thought alone makes something in Jeremy’s chest tighten uncomfortably. Jeremy doesn’t want to make assumptions, though, regardless of how many pieces Jeremy might think fit. The only person that can confirm or deny what had happened was Ryan himself, and Ryan wasn’t talking. 

Speaking of which, Jeremy glances at the clock – nearly six. Mission accomplished, Jeremy muses – it must have been hours since he last checked his phone. He’d somehow managed to keep his debilitating Ryan anxiety at bay, even if he’d spent the entire time thinking about him. Win some, lose some, Jeremy figures. 

He absently flicks his phone screen on, but his blood runs cold when he sees the text scrolling across it. He must have accidentally left it on silent. Fuck. What the hell was wrong with him? 

_Missed Call: Ryan Haywood (2)_

The text doesn’t have time to crawl from one side of the screen to the other before Jeremy is out the door, setting off in a brisk jog to Ryan’s house.


	4. Aftermath

Jeremy makes his way to Ryan’s place in record time. Ryan hadn’t answered any of his calls on the way over, and Jeremy can no longer quash his anxiety. Once he reaches Ryan’s door, he nearly pounds on it, trying not to become too panicked. “Ryan? Ryan, are you alright? Dad and I are worried.” No response. “I’m really sorry I missed your call. Are you okay?” Still nothing. 

“Ryan?” Jeremy calls again, anxiously running his thumb over the spare key in his pocket. He usually likes to let Ryan make the decision on whether to let Jeremy into his space, but Jeremy just can’t shake the feeling that something’s gone wrong. Plus, he did give Jeremy the key for emergencies, which makes him feel a little more justified. 

Without further hesitation, Jeremy stuffs the key in the lock, and enters Ryan’s home. 

“Ryan?” He calls out. Nothing. “Rye? Is everything okay?” 

Then he hears it – a soft, tremulous little groan. 

“Ryan!” Jeremy rushes towards the sound, finding Ryan crumpled on the other side of the couch right by the entrance. “Oh, god!” Jeremy rushes to his boyfriend’s side. 

Immediately, he notices that Ryan’s arm is completely crushed, the patch job he and his father did completely ruined. The boy himself seems at best half-conscious, slumped against the couch and staring blearily up at Jeremy through half-lidded eyes. 

“Oh, Christ, Ryan, what happened?” Jeremy fumbles clumsily with one hand to grab his phone. God, Jeremy’s never leaving Ryan alone again. Jeremy, panicked and uncertain, isn’t sure who to call - his father, Ryan’s mother? So he settles on calling neither, and just calls for an ambulance. 

At the same time, Ryan stirs sluggishly below him, his good hand reaching weakly out towards Jeremy. “Jeremy?” He asks, voice slurred. “Is that really… you?” 

“Yeah, buddy. Yeah. Don’t worry, I’m here, okay? I’m getting you some help right now.” 

“What happened?” He asks blearily. “What are you doing here?” 

“What – I was hoping you’d know. You called me, buddy.” 

“Oh. Really?” Ryan asks weakly. Jeremy nods, the knot of panic in his gut growing heavier at Ryan’s clear confusion. 

“Yeah, Rye – look, hang on a sec, I have to talk on the phone real quick.” He says as the operator greets him on the other end of the line. Ryan blinks, staring at Jeremy’s phone. He seems to barely understand the interaction taking place. 

“P-please don’t call Art. I’ll fix it. I’ll be good, I promise, just please don’t call him.” Despite how out of it Ryan seems, the desperation in his voice rings clear. Jeremy frowns in concern. 

“Okay, baby. Just give me a sec, okay?” Ryan nods obediently. Jeremy manages to get through the rest of his call before Ryan speaks again. 

“W-who did you call, then?” 

“Help. You’re really hurt. And – shit. I think you’re running a fever. How long were you like this before you called me?” Ryan doesn’t answer, still hung up on their earlier conversation. He squirms, trying to shift himself upright. 

“You-you didn’t call the police, though, right? O-or an ambulance? It’ll get m – get us in in trouble.” Ryan struggles to say. Jeremy opts for a lie of omission. 

“Don’t worry, Rye, nobody’s getting in trouble.” Ryan squints suspiciously up at him. 

“Wait, did you? You didn’t, right?” He asks, voice rising with his own mounting anxiety. In his half-upright position, he sends his good arm flailing in a panicked attempt to look at the last caller on Jeremy’s cell. The motion makes him overbalance and crash against the couch, jostling his bad arm and forcing an agonized wail out of him. 

“Ryan! Ryan, relax, jeez, you’re going to hurt yourself worse.” Jeremy urges, rearranging his friend against the couch in a better position. “Don’t panic, everything’s going to be fine.” 

“Did you c-call them? Because e-everyone will be ups-set if you did. We can’t – nobody c-can see me like this.” Ryan says desperately. Jeremy feels torn. He doesn’t want to lie to his friend, and he’d love to help soothe some of Ryan’s overwhelming fear, but like hell is he just going to let this slide. He opts for redirection and hopes for the best. 

“Everything’s going to be just fine, Rye, really, I promise. I just need to know where your mom is, okay?” As Jeremy had hoped, it’s enough of a diversion to throw Ryan off.

“You really promise?” He asks, big blue eyes staring up at him. 

“I really promise.” Jeremy assures, and Ryan huffs out a sigh of relief. 

“Good… t-thanks, Jeremy.” He says with a weak little smile. “I – I mean, I need to talk to my mom anyway. If – if I have any hope of making things alright. I – I’m not totally sure where she is right now – she was out of town, b-but I need to get Art back first anyways – “ Ryan rambles, and the words barely make sense to Jeremy. He’s missing a lot of the story, here. 

“What do you mean? Why are you so worried about Art?” Jeremy interrupts gently. Ryan gives Jeremy a guilty look. 

“I – I ruined everything, Jer, and after all you did to help me. I ruined the cast and Arthur and everything for mom…” Ryan’s voice breaks abruptly. He looks like he’s going to cry, a feverish hysteria beginning to overwhelm him. Jeremy frowns, gathering his boyfriend into his arms. 

“Hush, Rye. You didn’t ruin a thing, I’m sure of it. Just relax and tell me what happened, okay?” Ryan whimpers, but nuzzles closer to Jeremy until he’s tucked up against his side. 

“I – I made him mad. He – he left after that. I don’t know where he – where he went.” Ryan stammers, sniffling. 

“Ryan, did he… did he hurt you? Did he do… this, to you?” Jeremy asks carefully. Ryan doesn’t so much as look up. 

“A – and my mom is happy with him. She – she loves him, and it’s all my fault anyway, it was s-so hard for my mom to find someone when she h-had a kid already.” 

“Ryan, I’m serious.” 

“And I’m j-just the worst. I’m lucky he didn’t leave earlier, but – but all I do is make things worse and ruin people’s lives – “ 

“Ryan, stop!” Jeremy finally exclaims. Ryan does so, gaping up at Jeremy with very apparent fear. “Please, Rye.” Jeremy continues in a gentler tone, stroking his cheek with a soothing touch. Ryan shivers, but leans into the kind contact. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You don’t make anything worse, and – and none of this is your fault, I promise.” 

“No…” Ryan nearly whines, looking up at Jeremy with fever-bright eyes, and he tries unsteadily to shift his weight and get to his feet, but Jeremy holds him down easily. “Jer – I really messed up. I can’t just stay sitting here, I have to go and apologize and get Art back. Oh, mom - mom’s gonna be so upset. Please, we have to call him or something.” 

“Look, even if you don’t believe me yet, I need you to trust me that nothing that happened was your fault, and it’s not your responsibility to deal with Arthur’s tantrums. Not ever, but especially not while you’re so sick. Plus, I’m sure your mom would rather you get some much-needed medical attention rather than chase after him.” Jeremy starts, noting with dismay Ryan’s skeptical look. “You need rest and treatment right now. You can worry about all that stuff later.” Ryan doesn’t reply, just turns with a tired sigh and presses his face against Jeremy’s chest. 

“I need to know, though.” Jeremy starts, sucking a shaky breath in. How the hell was he supposed to have this conversation? “Has Arthur been hurting you?” Ryan won’t look at him. With a feather-light touch, Jeremy cups his jaw, his gentle hand guiding Ryan’s head up to look directly at him. Ryan’s frowning, but he says nothing. “Ryan, has your family been abusing you?” 

Ryan’s eyes fall closed, and tremors start to wrack his frame. His breath speeds up, and he emits the saddest, most pained whine Jeremy has ever heard. “Ryan?” Jeremy prompts, and Ryan abruptly throws his good arm around Jeremy’s neck, burying his face aggressively into Jeremy’s chest. Jeremy strokes a gentle hand up and down Ryan’s back, rubbing soothing circles into the skin. 

“It’s true, isn’t it.” Jeremy asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question. Ryan can’t say it yet, but Jeremy knows. 

Ryan just holds Jeremy close and starts to sob.


	5. Pain

When Ryan wakes up in his hospital bed, he cries. Violent, inconsolable sobs. They’ve given Ryan painkilling drugs, and it’s left him even more emotional than the situation alone would. Jeremy’s never felt more out of his depth in his life, but there’s no way in hell he’s leaving Ryan to deal with this shit on his own, so he just hunkers down and tries his best. 

“Rye-Bread?” He asks gently, and Ryan immediately reaches for him. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Jeremy asks, and he feels so stupid, because everything is wrong – obviously, everything is wrong – and will it ever be right again? But he needs to know what Ryan needs, what he can do for the form, small and vulnerable, curled up in the hospital bed. 

Ryan just sniffles for a while, needing a moment to collect himself, it seemed. “Take your time, sweetheart.” Jeremy encourages. After a moment, Ryan readies himself, and starts to speak. 

“They say that – that I might need more than one surgery. A-and that I’ll definitely need physical therapy.” Ryan whimpers, pausing to sniffle and wipe his nose. “They said it – it might never get all the way better.” 

That sends a sick jolt of fear through Jeremy, the possibility that Ryan’s shitstain stepfather might have permanently damaged his arm, and Jeremy hadn’t been there to help – nobody had been there to help. 

“Oh, Ryan…” Jeremy says, and it sets Ryan off on another wave of sobs. “I’m – I’m so sorry, love…” Because what precisely do you say to that? Sorry that your dominant arm might be permanently debilitated because some asshole decided to ruin your day? But hey… look on the bright side? 

Anything he might say in response feels cheap, and wrong, somehow, but Jeremy knows Ryan needs his comfort more than he needs him overanalyzing every single word out of his mouth. 

“Wh-what if it never gets better, Jeremy? I – I didn’t want to get hurt. It – it wasn’t my fault, Jeremy, I want it to be better.” The words are so scared, child-like and vulnerable. Jeremy feels his own eyes growing hot, tears brimming. 

“I know, baby. It wasn’t your fault. Not at all.”

“W-why? Why d-did he do this to me? Why do th-these things happen to m-me? I – I don’t want t-to be bad. I – I thought I was good. I wanna be good.” 

“Rye, no, it’s not your fault. You are good, you’re so good. Art’s just a piece of shit, fucking, shitstain asshole, and he hurt you because he’s worthless, it’s not because you were bad.” Jeremy rushes to say, the words tripping over themselves on their way out. “It’s not your fault.” Ryan furrows his brow at that, sniffling. 

“Ryan?” 

“What.” 

“It’s not your fault, baby.” 

“I – I know.” 

“I’m serious. You didn’t deserve this. Arthur is just a fucking scumbag.” 

“I – I know.” Jeremy isn’t convinced, but he isn’t sure that a call-and-repeat is the best use of their time right now, so he just sighs. 

“How do you feel, love? Physically?” 

“It hurts.” He almost whines. It’s such a frank admission, so earnest, that it strikes Jeremy painfully between the ribs. 

“Do you want me to call a nurse?” Jeremy asks, and Ryan just shakes his head a little. “Baby, you need to rest.” 

“I don’t wanna – I can’t go to sleep. Not right now. Not like this.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know. I think I’m scared. I don’t want – I don’t want to close my eyes.” Jeremy spies the thin sheen of sweat on his face, his pale countenance, both dead giveaways for his mounting anxiety. 

“What if I stayed here with you?” Something behind those bright blue eyes folds at that, relief making itself evident in Ryan’s expression. 

“I c-couldn’t ask you to do that.” 

“I wouldn’t make you ask, Rye.” Jeremy soothes in reply. Wordlessly, Ryan reaches out for him, and Jeremy takes his hand. 

“Thank you.” Ryan finally murmurs, guiding Jeremy up onto the bed next to him as he does so. Jeremy presses a gentle kiss to Ryan’s forehead, appreciating his little shiver of response. 

“Meds, before you sleep.” Jeremy instructs, grabbing the little plastic cup full of pills and the bottled water at Ryan’s bedside. Ryan obediently takes the drugs and then nuzzles himself up next to Jeremy, bad arm carefully laid on top of him, the rest of him buried against Jeremy’s body and protection. 

Jeremy feels Ryan quaking in the bed next to him, still unable to fully relax. “Just close your eyes, Rye.” Jeremy murmurs, stroking a gentle hand up and down his side. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay. You just need a little sleep, and everything will be better in the morning.” He’s reminded of soothing a child, all softness and repetition. “I’ll be right by your side the whole time.” Ryan studies him with teary, vulnerable, bright blue eyes. 

“Do you – do you promise, Jeremy?” 

“I promise, Ryan. Just go to sleep. Everything is going to be just fine.” 

“Okay.” He murmurs, the extensive trust he feels in Jeremy implicit in his agreement. 

Ryan falls asleep there, carefully nestled against Jeremy’s side. Jeremy feels the faint pinpricks of self-consciousness, aware that he shouldn’t be in Ryan’s bed. But he steels himself with the knowledge that he just couldn’t leave Ryan alone in the state Jeremy found him. He just couldn’t, and he couldn’t even be made to feel bad about it.


End file.
